


I Think I'll Eat Your Heart

by thatisnotokay



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU- Death of character, Canon-Typical Violence, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:42:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatisnotokay/pseuds/thatisnotokay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During/around the events in 1x13, after Will is arrested and escapes custody.</p><p>Will goes to Hannibal for help, hoping that the trusted psychiatrist will be able to get him out of trouble. Unfortunately, Hannibal thinks Will is too much of a liability, and deals with him like he deals with all of his other meals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think I'll Eat Your Heart

 

Jack Crawford rested his face in his cold hands. He rubbed the meat of his palms against the puffy skin under his eyes, his breath coming out in a heavy sigh. He was exhausted and beaten down from his work. He felt like his coworkers could see his bones from under his worn exterior.

Will Graham and Hannibal Lector were missing. While the former was being transferred between safe buildings, he had somehow incapacitated the guards in the transfer truck. Just after Jack found out about it, Hannibal was reported as missing as well. His back door was standing wide open when an FBI agent was sent to bring him to BAU headquarters for his safety. Will’s prison jumper was found in the psychiatrist’s house, but the investigators couldn't find any other evidence or leads; they already checked the Hobbs house, Will’s house, and the old observatory. Jack had no idea where the two were, or how Hannibal was, or how _Will_ was. All he knew was that Will was sick and was likely a serial killer. He didn't know what Will was going to do to Hannibal. It’s been three days—the ill man could have done a number of things to his therapist.

Just as he was about to go downstairs and look over the files again, see if he could get a lead, there was a knock on his door. Beverly was at the glass door, holding a transparent DVD case in her hand. Beige tape neatly sealed the opening.

“Jack, this was dropped off,” she said, stepping in and closing the door behind her. It shut with a gentle click. “It’s addressed to you.”

He waved her in, and she took a place standing beside him at his desk. She watched with her dark, curious eyes as he took the plastic case and turned it over in his hands. She turned her gaze to his face when he tensed up; his eyes were locked on his name, written on the tape. It was written with beautiful penmanship, all smooth lines and perfection and blood red ink.

He knew it was from Hannibal. He had seen his name in the doctor’s handwriting before. Surely the psychiatrist meant to have Jack recognize it. To tell Jack that he was alive, perhaps? Still, he told Beverly to run analyses on the paper, ink, and handwriting before he carefully removed the DVD from the case. He held the thin, shiny plastic on his index finger, the silence between him and Beverly settling between them.

Jack fixed the DVD into his computer’s player, and waited until the Windows player opened. The first frame of the video was blurry and dark. He stared at it blankly for a long while, until he heard Beverly clear her throat.

He pressed play, and they heard two things first: heavy breathing, shaky with exhaustion, and the camera’s holder fumbling around with it for a second. The lens soon focused, and the pale face of Will Graham appeared on the screen. His eyes were heavy lidded and tired, but focused on whoever was holding the camera. He was the one breathing heavy; he was sweaty and shivering, his brown curls damp and sticking to his forehead.

His lips moved in silence for a few moments before he found his voice.

“You... you did this to me.” The end of the sentence ended with a weak snarl of his fluttering lips.

Just as Jack was wondering who he was talking to, the man’s accented voice came from the computer’s speakers.

“What did I do to you, Will? You’re going to have to explain yourself better, for the audience.” The pronunciation of the words sent a cold, confused shiver under Jack’s skin. He heard Beverly sigh next to him.

The camera was a little shaky; judging by the sounds, Jack figured it was being fastened onto a tripod. Will’s gaze didn’t falter away from the cameraman’s face as the zoom pulled away from Will, fixing on his entire body. He was kneeling, and his hands were fastened behind his back.

“You killed those people,” he stated quietly, speaking louder and harsher when asked to repeat himself. “You killed all of them—even Abigail. You wanted to watch me, to see what I’d do. To see what someone who thinks the way I think would do. That’s all you wanted; just wind me up and watch me go.”

There was an elegant silence before a sharp, “Correct.”

There was a pop, and the camera was stilled. Jack watched as Will’s eyes moved when the soft clicking of heels was heard. His tired eyes followed the footsteps until there was a pair of finely dressed legs on camera, slowly turning into the full body of a man.

Will kept his eyes on Hannibal until the doctor was kneeling behind him. He looked at the floor then, and clenched his jaw as Hannibal rested his hands on his shoulders. The psychiatrist’s hands moved in calming, almost teasing motions.

“How did that make you feel, Will? My setting you up against Jack?” he asked lowly, and Jack saw how darkly he looked at Will. He hadn’t seen the hunger in the doctor’s eyes, hadn’t heard the sultry curiosity in his voice. It was like he was looking at a stranger wearing a person-suit made of a friend.

“You betrayed me, ruined me. You got into my head,” was all that Will would say. Hannibal seemed pleased with his response, as he moved his hand to rub circles in the skin of Will’s neck. The teacher trembled visibly and bit his tongue.

“You’re remarkable, Will, you truly are. You are a prize amongst humans; a prize that I wish to take.” Will closed his eyes. “My dear Will... I only wanted to give you the best. I wanted to show myself to you, and give you the gift of knowing me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that. I won’t be able to. Do you know why?”

Will’s voice was shaky when he replied: “I didn’t want your gift.” He spat out the word ‘gift’ like it was venom on the tip of his tongue.

“That’s right,” Hannibal continued. He leaned closer to the American, chest flush against his sweaty back. “You threw it away before it was even ready. You disrespected me, Will, even though we’re very much alike.”

Soft lips pulled into a grimace as Will bit back a snarky remark. His breathing had gotten heavier within the last minute, and his chest was now shuddering and rising with each intake of air. His eyes were still closed.

Dr. Hannibal Lector fell into silence, and stared at Will’s face for a long stretch of time. His gaze softened before he leaned up and off of Will, and reached behind him. The camera didn’t pick up what was hiding in the shadows. Hannibal’s short silence ended after he pulled back around and started fumbling with the handcuffs on Will’s wrists.

“I’m sorry, my dear Will, but I do believe I’m going to continue a pattern of mine,” he spoke loudly, clearly. The handcuffs clicked loose, but he had a tight grip on Will’s arms. “Jack’s sent me an agent before. If I remember correctly, I left him an arm.”

While Jack processed the information, the psychiatrist-cum-killer pressed his lips against the shell of Will’s ear.

“I think I’ll leave him another one.”

There was a loud crack, and Will’s face twisted into a silence scream. Hannibal gently lowered his broken arm against his side, telling him that it was only broken so he couldn’t ‘try anything’. Will’s other arm was still twisted behind his back, secured in Hannibal’s grip. Weak sounds of protest escaped his lips as he jerked helplessly. His eyes finally opened, and his neck craned around to watch Hannibal take out a thick, serated knife.

Hannibal shushed the panicking man, and he pushed and rearranged Will’s body until the side with his unbroken arm was in the best view of the camera. Jack’s stomach turned itself over as Hannibal rolled up Will’s tee-shirt sleeve, running the blade gently over the sweat slicked skin. The skin was only scratched the first time he ran the silver steel over it, but the second time ripped a keening from Will’s throat and pulled blood from his arm. The cut wasn’t deep, but the red dripping out of the wound made both FBI agents on the other side of the screen cringe. It didn’t stop the Lithuanian, who shoved the thick knife further into Will’s bicep.

Jack covered his eyes with his hands. Beverly tried to keep her eyes away from the screen, but failed several times.

Will wailed and writhed, his lips pulled back into an ugly grimace. He couldn’t hold himself upright, and alternated between being bent over his knees to leaning and squirming against Hannibal’s chest. The latter didn’t seem to notice, and just focused on the grotesque task at hand.

The sickening squelches and cracks spilled from Jack’s speakers and into the tense room. The two didn’t look up until they heard Will’s voice settle down and a particularly gross thud and the clatter of a dropping knife. The screen remained fixed on the pair: the psychiatrist and his patient; the manipulator and his victim; the captivated and his captured. Will’s arm laid at their feet.

Will’s entire frame shook while Hannibal crooned softly in his ear, brushing his bangs away from his forehead and cleaning his chin and cheeks of his spit and tears. Hannibal dutifully removed his tie to make a tourniquet for Will’s arm. After the long piece of cloth was secure and safely applied, he moved Will around to his original position with his chest facing the camera. After they were both in a comfortable position, Hannibal wrapped his arms around his patient’s torso. The dizzy-eyed brunet was too busy dealing with the flaring pulses of pain to struggle.

“Will, I regret having to hurt you like this,” the doctor hummed, almost too low for Jack and Beverly to hear. “It wasn’t supposed to come to this. I had a dream of us running away. I dreamt of you becoming who you are meant to be—someone like me. I truly hoped you would realize who you were, but... that dream won’t become reality.”

The teacher was listening, but only from the back of his mind. His eyes focused on Hannibal’s hands, the hands that were wrapped around his belly. A long finger curved a ‘U’ across his lower belly, and Will couldn’t stop the violent tremble that ran up his spine.

“Hannibal, please,” he choked out. He was talking quietly, and leaned his head back to rest it against the man’s shoulder. “Turn the camera off... Don’t show them this.”

Maroon eyes looked longingly into dark blue, and a soft, sad smile graced at his pronounced lips. He reached a hand up to run his thumb on Will’s jawline, feeling the pricking of his scruff on the soft pad of skin.

“What do I do with my victims, Will?” Hannibal didn’t expect a response other than a pathetic, resigned sob. “I display them. Give them a beauty they couldn’t have in life.

“You, my dear, precious Will, are already much more beautiful than I could ever make you in death. My only regret will be silencing that beautiful mind of yours. I will keep you, however. This is my presentation; Jack won’t find a body. I won’t let him.”

Jack swore and slammed his fist on his desk.

While he was talking, the hand not on Will’s face left his body to reach behind them. When it came back into view, a glinting curve of a short, clean blade peeked out from his fingers. Will tried to look at it, but Hannibal gripped his face—his thumb was firmly under Will’s jaw and his fingers splayed across his cheek, forcing him to look at him. While his pleadings had stopped, the empath’s body was rocked with constant tremors.

A broken mix of a sob and a shout left Will’s lips when the dark blond sank the linoleum knife into his abdomen. Jerky motions and tugs brought out even jerkier moans and pained gasps. Hannibal yanked the blade across the invisible line he traced with his fingers only moments earlier, ripping skin open in a bloody display of twisted affection. The arm connected to the hand holding Will’s head in place also kept his torso from thrashing too much.

Hannibal pressed his lips to Will’s ear again, and spoke in hushed whispers that Jack couldn’t hear.

“You’re going into shock,” he comforted the man in his arms. “I truly wish for this to be as painless as possible, my Will. I regret it came to this, but every game must have its ending.”

As Will’s breath became shallow and his shoulders relaxed, Hannibal worked the bloody blade out of Will’s stomach and tore his shirt apart. The latter hardly realized what was happening through his hazy head. His eyes only saw the dark body of the man-stag, and only felt it pulling him closer to its leathery body.

Jack continued to watch with dead, wet eyes as Hannibal looked directly into the camera, talking of surgical terms while running the blade across Will’s bare chest and into his skin. The head of the BAU sincerely thought the worst part was when Will’s protests weren’t loud and pained like before, but weak and yielding. Jack finally closed his eyes just before the ex-surgeon plunged his hand into Will’s open chest, earning himself a final thrash and groan from Will.

Jack guessed Will lived long enough to hear Hannibal present his own heart to him. He supposed Will looked at his own heart, its beating faltering when it realized it wasn’t pumping blood to him anymore.

Jack knew he lived long enough to see Hannibal smile fondly at him. Jack looked up just moments before Will’s mouth hung slack, wide eyes staring up into his murderer’s face. It was awkward and close, with their noses only inches apart. Hannibal kept Will’s head against his shoulder, bringing a blood-stained hand up to run through dark curls.

His other hand, holding Will’s silent heart, raised the detached organ as a toast. A toast to Jack Crawford, Beverly Katz, Alana Bloom, Will’s other friends, and the life Will refused to have with him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm rewatching the Hannibal series, and I just really wanted to see this happen (I'm awful). 
> 
> At first, I wanted this to happen after the end of season 2, like Will and Hannibal escape together (with you know who, ofc), but Hannibal is still mad that Will wasn't entirely faithful to the idea of helping him? But I also didn't know how to add Jack in there. There was just a lot of stuff I couldn't remember or figure out for this story, so that's why it's set so much earlier.
> 
> And like I said in the summary, this does take place around the middle or so of 1x13/Savoureux. Just after Will escapes custody in that van thing, but before he entirely realizes it was Hannibal's fault and much less before Jack believes Will about it. (And sorry for not going into how Jack reacts. This wasn't a psychological this time, I wanted to focus on the actual events)
> 
> Anyway, yeah, took a few things from the books and movies. Which you all should watch or read, by the way; they're beautiful.
> 
> If you see any grammar or spelling mistakes, please tell me so I can fix them and stop embarrassing myself. Any constructive critique is welcome, as well as anything else. Thank you for reading!


End file.
